Harry Potter and the Sunshine in Spring
by It's-Kraggie
Summary: Even great wizards aren't infallible; when Dumbledore makes a mistake on that cold Thursday night, the predestined Master of Death meets Death early, and Death is none too keen on having a master. Death/Rebirth; Harry Potter may have breathed his last but Haruno Haru has just breathed his first, and the most unimaginatively named children in Konoha are about to shake up the story.
1. Chapter 1

**Harry Potter and the Sunshine in Spring**

 _Even great wizards aren't infallible; when Dumbledore makes a mistake on that cold Thursday night, the predestined Master of Death meets Death early, and Death is none too keen on having a master. Character Death and Rebirth; Harry Potter may have breathed his last but Haruno Haru has just breathed his first, and the two most unimaginatively named children in Konoha are about to shake up the story._

 _WARNING: Story features Violence, Death, Bad Language and Icha Icha._

* * *

 _Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner, he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four._

 _'Good luck, Harry,' he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak he was gone.*_

A chill breeze rustled its way down the street, heavy with omen and the smell of promised frost. Dew gathered on the perfectly square lawns of Privet Drive. On the Dursleys' doorstep, young Harry Potter rolled over in his blankets and dislodged his letter with a soft swish. Had this been any other doorstep, the letter might have snagged on a worn welcome mat, in a crack in the concrete or long stemmed weed hugging defiantly to the step. The letter would have remained close to the baby, and the enchantments that Dumbledore had placed upon it would have done their work, and the baby would have been safe. Alas, this was Petunia Dursley's doorstep, and Petunia Dursley's doorstep was so spotlessly clean and smooth that one could eat off it, if one was inclined to be so uncouth. Petunia Dursley's doorstep had nothing at all to halt a wayward letter, and so as quietly as the letter fell it was gathered up by the breeze and whisked away down the street to somewhere quite far from Privet Drive. Eventually, it would snag on a graveyard hedgerow, and the squirrels that lived there would fight over it, tear it up, and drag it up into their nests for the winter.

On the doorstep, Young Harry Potter shivered.

The fabric of reality rippled like a veil in the wind. For the swiftest of seconds a muted whisper could be heard, as if a heavy curtain had been pulled away from the door of a crowded room. Then reality dropped back into place, and as soon as the sound had come there was silence. Death stepped onto Privet Drive with a purpose. A soul was wavering, here. He could feel it.

Death stepped purposefully down the street, like a bloodhound on a scent. Souls bared themselves to Death as he passed; the house of Mrs. Figg, nine years of life remaining, respiratory disease caused by the hoarding of cats; the house of Piers Polkiss, ninety-three years, gangrene following an ill-fated mountaineering effort; and his parents, sixty and fifty-eight respectively, pneumonia and fatal stroke… Death passed silently through the hedge of number four; Vernon Dursley, thirty-four years, second heart attack; and paused over a bundle of blankets on the doorstep.

Harry Potter; twenty three seconds, exposure…

The dawn lifted the morning dew into a thin fog. Bands of red crept over the rooftops, casting a dull glow over the street. It was into this eerie scene that Death carried the soul of Harry Potter. The mist swirled around the hem of his cloak, rising steadily until, with a hurried press of whispers, Privet Drive disappeared and the place that was not quite King's Cross station took shape around them. Death examined the soul of Harry Potter critically; this waif was destined to be the Master of Death, wielder of the Hallows. _His master_. With a derogatory snort, Death raised his scythe. _SLASH._ He ran the blade clean through the child's forehead. Impaled on the point was a grotesque approximation of a child's body, twisted and flailing.

The soul he had been denied... In the recesses of his hood, Death bared his teeth in a gruesome grin.

' _You wished to fly from me, didn't you, soul?_ ' whispered Death. The abomination thrashed wildly, howling, malformed limbs trying to free its soul of the scythe. ' _Fly_ ,' said Death.

With a clicking flick of his wrist, he sent the soul flying from the tip of his blade and soaring through the window of the awaiting train. The window shut itself. The howling suddenly and abruptly cut off.

No soul could evade Death.

Death looked upon the soul of Harry Potter once more. Death crossed his arms. So this was the boy destined to become Master of Death. He cocked his skull. Free of the taint, the child might have become worthy of his Hallows, but… Death did not want a Master. Death didn't need a Master. Death did not need to _be_ mastered; he didn't need to be controlled. He was not reckless and impulsive, as DEATH was want to be; the DEATH OF RATS was proof enough of that, let alone that debacle with the apprentice and the girl. He was not Grim, so easily tricked as to be enslaved by mere children. He was not chaotic and greedy like Shinigami…

 _Ah._

Death grinned his fearsome grin once more. He gathered up the soul of Harry Potter and retreated from the train, heading down the platform. Reaping the soul of the predestined Master of Death was no guarantee, after all, objects of importance found their way through the veil all the time, as burial favours, accidental losses, even destruction of evidence. But then again, his was not the only veil, and he was not the only reaper of souls…

The mist swirled and condensed, taking on new forms; gleaming tiles, pillars and stairs; an underground station. This was no steam train, but a bullet train, all smooth, streamlined edges and crisp lines, named in stark black kanji along its side. With a gentle _swoosh_ the doors parted at his approach. Death laid the soul of Harry Potter on the floor of the carriage, dead centre, and retreated with a mocking wave. From behind the yellow line, Death met the eyes of the soul formerly known as Harry Potter with his own, fiery, gaze.

 _'Nothing personal',_ said Death, and with that the doors slammed shut, and the train sped out of the station, indeed, like a bullet. It went backwards.

* * *

The soul formerly known as Harry Potter felt warmth, then discomfort and sudden cold. Colours blurred into one another and voices bubbled and mumbled. He might have thought it akin to drowning in treacle, if the soul formerly called Harry Potter had known to compare it to that. And all was overlaid by a whisper, whisper, whisper like wind in the trees, getting louder and quieter with the rhythmic, persistent pressure against his back. Then, a sudden, shrill wail pierced through like a hot spoon in a honey pot and sound and light burst into his awareness with sharp, startling clarity. The cry shot down into him, hitting something primal, something instinctual that triggers only when one child opens its lungs in the presence of another. The soul, formerly known as Harry Potter, answered the only way it could.

The child opened his lungs and wailed right back. Haruno Kizashi burst into relieved, half-hysterical sobs.

'He's crying, Mebuki! Thank Kami, he's crying!'

He almost snatched his son from the attending nurses, cradling him with his bristly cheek pressed against the little boy's chubby one, cooing and blubbering and completely failing to calm the baby. The midwife checked and swaddled the second baby with professional bustle, announcing to the room at large, but the parents in particular that it was a girl. She was settled quickly into her mother's arms, where she promptly stopped crying, and so did he.

'It was her,' the happy father told Mebuki with a teary grin; 'she called him back.'

Haruno Mebuki merely held out her arms for her son. The midwife and nurses helped her clean up, gathered the afterbirths in a towel for a respectful burial, and quietly left the room exchanging discrete high-fives. For one heart-stopping moment, there had been only one healthy Haruno baby. It was almost creepy how quickly and suddenly the little boy had come back, the very minute his twin cried! It was a good thing nurses weren't superstitious women. The Harunos barely noticed the women leave, so engrossed were they in their new, perfect little family. Kizashi took a spot next to his wife and leaned over to examine his baby girl.

'My hair was this colour when I was born,' said Kizashi, running the pad of his finger over his little girl's downy baby-fuzz.

'So she'll be a pinkette too, hmm?'

'Pinkette isn't a word, Mebuki…'

Mebuki looked at him expressionlessly. 'I had a thirteen hour labour,' she stated, like she was reading a mission report, ' _thirteen_ hours of excruciating pain. Over _half_ a _day_. I _tore_ my-.'

'Pinkette is an excellent word, dear.'

Kizashi looked a little green at the thought and she didn't miss the way he suddenly re-crossed his legs. Mebuki snickered. Somehow she figured their children wouldn't be getting the Talk from their father… Kizashi rested his head against her shoulder. He always disarmed her with his thoughtlessly affectionate gestures.

'You did it, Mebuki' he whispered, shifting the baby in his arms so that their son and daughter were side by side. Mebuki quickly blinked the moistness from her eyes. The two babies were sleepy eyed, skin pink from the midwife's rubbing. The little girl was born with a soft coating of peach fuzz atop her head, but the little boy was near hairless. Aside from the different colours of their swaddles there were few immediate differences in the twins.

'I want to call her Sakura,' she said.

'I want to call him Haru,' said Kizashi.

Mebuki reared back, shoulder accidently smacking her husband's ear.

' _Haru_? Haruno Haru? That is the worst- The most _unimaginative-'_

Kizashi raised his eyebrows, rubbing his ear with his free hand. 'Yes. No take-backs. You said I could name him.'

'Yes, but when I said you could pick the name for a boy; I expected you'd call him Mebuichi or something.'

Kizashi gasped. 'You want Mebuichi but I don't get a Kizako? Vain, woman, vain.' He waggled a finger and prodded her gently in the nose.

'But Haruno _Haru_ …'

'Oh shush, I let you have _Sakura_. If it makes you feel better, we can spell it with different kanji. 'Sunshine' maybe. Hm?'

Mebuki groaned her despair to the ceiling. Kizashi cackled cheerfully, rubbing noses with the newly named Haru.

' _Cherry Blossoms in Spring_ and _Sunshine in Spring**_ ,' he grinned, toothily. 'They're going to hate us.'

Mebuki began to gently knock her head against the wall behind her.

* * *

 _The neighbourhood was awoken by Petunia Dursley's scream, when she opened the door to put out the milk bottles. The poor woman collapsed in hysterics at the sight of her sister's glassy eyed child on the doorstep, and had to be led away by a policewoman to be wrapped in a blanket and given tea. For once, the nosiness of the neighbours was not unwelcome; they confirmed the child had never been seen at number four before. When the child was found to have died in the early morning, it was suspected that the parents had abandoned the child, uncaring of the consequences of leaving a baby on a concrete step, in November. A search commenced for the elusive parents._

 _When questioned, Petunia could give no reason why her sister had chosen to abandon the child on the step, without so much as ringing the bell. She stated that she'd not seen hide nor hair of her sister since Lily had been sent to a boarding school, of which Petunia couldn't remember the name, and stuck to it._

 _'She didn't even come to my wedding,' she told the policewoman, and anyone else that asked._

 _When pressed, Petunia was able to recall that her sister had been friends with a rude and unpleasant boy in the neighbourhood, who had been sent to the same school by his parents. Name of Snape, as she recalled, though mostly what she remembered of him was his dropping a tree branch on her head, quite deliberately. When the gossip mill got hold of that one, the general feeling in the neighbourhood was that poor Petunia Dursley had had the misfortune to be saddled with a delinquent sister who was sent to some kind of correctional school, along with her hooligan friends. Petunia did absolutely nothing to quell these rumours, of course._

 _Petunia Dursley buried the body of her nephew in the cemetery of a local, respectable church. She made sure that the gossips on her street saw her carrying flowers to place there, and in so doing, she felt quite vindicated in her dislike of all things freakish, and went back to adamantly insisting she had no sister. People mistook it for bravery and righteous shame and strong moral code, and that was just fine with Petunia._

 _Privately though, she remembered Lily's dinner table rants of prejudice among the freaks. The idea that freaks like that took issue with nice,_ _normal_ _people had offended Petunia's sensibilities like nothing else. Lily had married into one of those freak families, and she only remembered_ _that_ _because at least it wasn't that horrible Snape boy. This mode of thinking led her to wonder if the child had not been freaky enough, and been thus cast aside. Petunia could think of no other reason that her sister's family would try to dump a child of theirs on her nice, normal family._

 _She mourned the possibility that her poor nephew had died for his normalness._

 _'Just proves you were right about those freaks, love,' Vernon said, when she confessed this to him in the dead of night. 'Poor kid's probably better off.'_

* * *

 **Haruno Haru, I imagine, is the equivalent of calling your son John Johnson. But hey, these were the parents that named their pink-haired daughter Sakura in canon, which is a bit like calling your blonde kid Buttercup.**

 **As for the Dursley interlude: had Petunia never had a handy dandy note explaining the situation, I rather suspect this is the conclusion she might have come to. After all, she hasn't spoken to her sister in years and has no way of knowing that Lily and James are dead.**

 _*_ Rowling, J.K (1997) _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ , Bloomsbury Publishing Co. Page 18

The alternate incarnations of Death, in order, are Terry Pratchett's _Discworld_ series' Death and Death of Rats©, Cartoon Network's (Atoms, M) Grim from _The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy_ © and, of course, Shinigami © _Naruto_ manga and anime series by Masashi Kishimoto.

**Roughly translated, the literal name meanings of Haruno Sakura, and Haruno Haru (spelt with kanji for sunshine) respectively.


	2. Chapter 2

**Harry Potter and the Sunshine in Spring**

 _Even great wizards aren't infallible; when Dumbledore makes a mistake on that cold Thursday night, the predestined Master of Death meets Death early, and Death is none too keen on having a master. Character Death and Rebirth; Harry Potter may have breathed his last but Haruno Haru has just breathed his first, and the two most unimaginatively named children in Konoha are about to shake up the story._

 _WARNING: Story features Violence, Death, Bad Language and Icha Icha._

* * *

The two year old squirmed fitfully on the table. The metal was cold on his exposed skin – the sliver of back where his t-shirt had ridden up, his elbows down and the back of his neck. His arms hurt. Dark eyes were watching from the corner. Where were his familiar people? He whimpered.

There was a strange whispering in the air. Was that a familiar sound?

The door opened.

Someone entered.

White skin. Black hair. Yellow eyes. Haru tried to cry but there was something over his face. There were eyes like that in one of his picture books. They stared out of bushes and trees and from under the bed. Monster eyes.

"Well well," said the monster. It had a deep voice, even when it whispered. "Awake?"

It moved toward him. There were children under the monsters arms. Dangling. Not moving.

It got them already! Haru's eyes widened in terror but something was holding him down. He couldn't run away!

There was a deep, wicked chuckle.

"Now now, oxygen is expensive you know. Don't go using it all up with your panting."

What did that mean?

The two children were flopped onto another table, toes touching. The monster did strange things, like measuring one of the little boys; his feet and his hands, his head and his torso. Haru knew what the white tape was but kaachan never used it like this. The monster pulled the boys mouth with its fingers, so that his teeth poked out.

"Three," declared the monster at last. Haru recognized the number. The monster moved to the other one. "And four. A little old perhaps, but they shall suffice for now."

The monster moved away. Haru couldn't see him anymore. There were sounds though, like glasses hitting glasses in the sink. And the monster was still talking. Haru didn't understand most of it.

"I'm impressed to see you wake up so soon little one. Perhaps that too is part of your limit. Truth be told, I would have liked to have observed your family some more, find out who you belonged to, but the opportunity was just _so_ good." There was another frightful little laugh, somewhere Haru couldn't see. "Perhaps your mother will be more picky about the babysitters she hires in future, hm? Genins can be _so_ simple."

A face appeared above him. Haru hiccupped his distress into the mask on his face.

"Let's see if we can replicate your delightful results in the park, hm?"

The face moved. Haru followed the monster with his head. It hurt his neck some but he had to watch it! It could hurt him.

But the monster stopped over one of the other little boys instead. Haru tried to hold his breath but the mask made him choke. The monster leaned over the boy with the light hair and then suddenly there was a knife in his hand and something on the table with a long, sharp needle and the monster cut the boy with the knife and _he_ screamed and Haru _screamed_ -

The room was full of rushing water. Tanks were draining out. Things on shelves were falling or dripping off them and things that never should be mixed were mixing.

Then the explosions started. It was loud and hot and frightening and Haru couldn't see the monster anymore, only the other little boy crying and bleeding and-

BOOM.

Blackness.

…

Inoichi pulled out of the toddler's mind, patting the child's back with one hand and massaging his temple with the other. Children's minds could flitter so quickly from thought to thought. It gave him a headache. Red-hemmed robes moved into his line of vision and the fitful toddler was taken from him. The Sandaime straightened, rocking soothingly.

"It's the Harunos' child," Inoichi confirmed, shifting to a more respectful kneel, now that he was unburdened. "His memories are a little disjointed but it's pretty clear. Orochimaru took an opportunity when it presented itself. A genin team was child-sitting but became distracted by his sister in the park. Too easily, it must be said. They let their frustrations get the better of them."

"I will speak to their instructor. They will be kept from further missions involving children. Continue."

"The source of the explosion is unknown but the brief glimpse I got, something happened to the glass containers. Volatile chemicals ignited and from there it was a chain reaction. He didn't manage to do whatever he intended to do with the children and Haru's tissue samples. This is concurrent with the memories I observed in the other boy."

Haru himself was now drooling into the Hokage's collar, exhausted but bandaged up. The Sandaime showed no inclination to return him to his hospital bed, and had not, in fact, stopped stroking the toddler's back. The poor child deserved some comfort.

"The Harunos do not have a bloodline limit as far as I am aware," he mused, stroking his beard. "The beginning of a new limit in the village?" A snot bubbled popped in the sleeping Haru's nose. Sarutobi chuckled.

"We will see how things turn out. He is too young yet and I have no desire to traumatise the boy with tests. He has been through enough."

His opinion wasn't needed, but Inoichi nodded his agreement anyway.

"Have someone sent for the Haruno's," Sarutobi ordered quietly, settling the little boy in his hospital bed. "And send me the jounin instructor for the genins. I would like to know why he was not with his students."

* * *

The snake-sannin's defection was village-wide news by morning. By then, ANBU had already lost his trail.

* * *

Haru panted as he rounded the last stall in the market square and legged it into an alley. He paused a half second to gulp down a lung full of air, and then he was off again. The jeering sounded from behind him. Something whizzed over his head. He clambered clumsily onto the dumpsters, lids down thanks to the food waste that the restaurants which backed onto this alley threw out – nobody wanted to smell rotting food, no matter how expensive that food had started out. It took Haru two jumps to successfully grab hold of the fire escape railing and two kicks to dislodge the hand that grabbed his ankle from below. He hauled himself up before someone else could try, breathing heavily. He chanced a look down. There were two boys propping up a larger third, who was rubbing his cheek and scowling fiercely.

'You'll pay for that, Haruno,' he growled.

The heavyset boy lurched forward to climb the dumpster again. Without Haru's kicking, he'd have no trouble reaching the railing – he was a good head taller than the Haruno, with a longer reach. Deushi Daisuke and his gang had made a regular game of _Haru-Hunting_ as they called it, and that really tells you all you need to know about the bullying boys.

Haru fled. The railing jangled loudly with his pounding feet and louder still when the three successfully mounted the metal fire escape behind him. Ahead was the shopping district; if there was a decent crowd he could lose them in it.

Haru hit the end railing of the fire escape with a thud. No way down. He looked up. There was a ladder riveted to the side of the building, completely vertical and – he shook it – slightly wobbly. The three bigger boys were almost on him, grinning triumphantly. They closed in on their prey, the end of the hunt near at hand… Haru chanced it. The metal was slippery from the morning's dew, and the rungs slightly too far apart. Sheer, desperate adrenaline propelled him upwards. If there was no way down from the roof, he was done for. Daisuke would get him back for that kick with triple vengeance.

Clang clang clang.

Daisuke was already coming up the ladder below him. Haru's heart leapt into his throat. Daisuke's arms were longer, the ladder was easy for him. He was coming closer and closer, faster and faster. Haru's wild eyes fixed on the rooftop, three rungs to go, two, one-

Daisuke's hand closed. He grasped at the air where Haru's foot had been a scant second earlier. Daisuke growled and threw himself over the ledge and onto the rooftop and bared down on the trembling six year old… and stopped, gaping, frozen on the edge of the precipice, looking at the building falling away below him. Haru stared at him from the roof across the alley. The gap was too wide to jump, way too wide for a kid so how had he-?

Haru came to his senses first. He fled the roof.

"Get back down the ladder!" Daisuke shouted. "Cut him off!"

But by the time the boys' stumbling confusion had resolved itself, and they'd made it safely back to the ground, Haru was long gone and the shopping district had filled with shoppers.

Haru darted between people, confident that he'd lost Daisuke and his idiot 'gang' but unwilling to chance it, and headed for the park at a dash. He entered an almost empty street. He could see greenery ahead, and behind him, he could hear nothing. He chanced a look back. Empty. He'd done it! He had just begun to slow when he crossed the threshold of the little park and saw three large outlines looming in front of him. And in front of _them_ was a trembling, sniffling shape with _pink hair_. Haru didn't even think before he sped up and tackled the largest at a straight run from behind.

"Ami!" The other two screamed as their friend suddenly bit the dirt. Too late, Haru realised that he'd just tackled a girl, but this girl was twice the height of his sister and so were her friends. She had to be older even than Daisuke and _she made his sister cry_. Haru hopped up in front of Sakura with an expression of righteous fury on his face. The spluttering girl spat dirt left and right, her face red and her bottom lip bitten.

"You little snot!" She screamed at him. Haru scowled defiantly.

"Leave my sister alone!" He shouted right back at her. "I don't care if you're a girl. Leave her alone or I'll hit you!"

"Who do you think you're talking to kid?" The girl was standing up now with her friends at her back. "Don't you know a shinobi when you see one?" She postured. " _I'm_ almost out the academy already, and _you-_ "

"You're a bully," said Sakura. And it was the first time she had ever said anything back to Ami. Ami's eyes flashed. Haru grinned at her and for one glorious moment it felt like someone stronger and braver was speaking through shy little Forehead Girl. "You're not a shinobi, you're just a civilian. Your dad works in the fish market." And so saying, Sakura stuck her little chin out as if to say, 'so there.' Ami was furious. Her chin was aching and likely to be purple by bedtime thanks to this little snot, and now Forehead Girl thought she could talk back to her? She raised her hand.

"Who's not a shinobi?" she shrieked and slapped Sakura hard across the face. Sakura yelped. Ami yelped. Haru had bitten her. And then both of her friends, instead of dragging off the rabid kid, pointed at each other and screamed. Sakura, even though her cheek was red, began to laugh. Ami scrambled to her feet only to stop dead as her hair swung in front of her eyes. She finally saw what the girls were screaming about. All three of them, down to their very roots, had _electric blue_ hair.

"Aaaiiiiieee!"

Sakura and Haru watched, bemused, as all three girls disappeared, squealing, down the street in a cloud of dust.

When it was just the two of them in the park, Sakura looked at her toes, allowing her hair to hide her face.

"That was really brave Haru," she whispered.

" _You_ were really brave," said Haru, who genuinely thought so. Those girls were a lot bigger than Sakura. This thought made him frown again. "Why were they picking on you?"

Sakura's head, if possible, sank even lower. She mumbled something. Haru leaned in close to hear her better.

"I have a big forehead," she confessed. Haru was confused.

"Do I have a big forehead?"

"What?" Sakura jerked her head up so fast she nutted him. "Oww."

Haru stopped rubbing his forehead long enough for Sakura to look at it. "No," she said.

"Well then you can't," he said matter of factly. "Twins look like each other," he explained when she looked unconvinced, "everyone knows that. So if your forehead is big mine must be too, and you just said it isn't so yours mustn't be either. That girl's a liar."

Sakura's expression cleared and she grabbed her brother in a tight hug. "What did you do to their hair, Haru?" she asked, taking his hand and leading him somewhere. Haru tilted his head.

"I thought you did that?"

Sakura shook hers.

"Weird," said Haru, and then, because this matter had been praying on his mind, "Why didn't you say you got picked on?" He was really quite cross about that. Sure, Sakura and he hadn't played together as much since they started the academy, because Daisuke liked Haru-hunting too much, but she should have said! Sakura was looking down again.

"So I wouldn't look like a coward for hiding." She stopped them by their joined hands and pointed. They were in a little copse of trees bordering the park, and here in the thick of them there was a tyre swing. "I normally hide here," Sakura went on, sounding very upset, "but Ami found me today."

Haru thought about running away all morning, and tugged on his sister's hand to get her attention. "I was running 'cos I was running away from Daisuke and his gang," he admitted, and was surprised that Sakura looked so surprised. "He likes Haru-hunting." Sakura's face transformed instantly, into a fierce scowl.

"You should have said," she said.

" _You_ should have said."

They frowned defiantly at each other for a long minute, as only children can.

"Say next time," Sakura ordered. She put her hands on her hips just like their mother did when she really meant something.

"If you teach me how to hide good, I won't have to say, 'cos they won't be able to chase me if I'm hiding." Haru grinned hopefully at her. Sakura's face was morphing from frown to enlightenment.

"If you teach me how to run fast, I won't have to hide," she said, in a tone of wonderment. Haru was getting excited by this idea.

"Ninjas have to run and hide really well, Iruka-sensei said, remember? We'll be the best ninjas and no one will pick on us anymore!"

"Yeah! Or we'll turn them blue!"

"Team Haruno!"

And so pumped up were they that the two children grasped hands and spun wildly in a circle until they fell, laughing, onto the grass in front of the swing.

"Best ninjas ever," Haru declared, holding out his pinkie finger.

"Best ninjas ever," Sakura echoed, linking pinkies.

* * *

The sole child and heir of the Yamanaka clan frowned minutely at the ribbon in her hand. She was sitting on the low wall that surrounded the Konoha young ninja's academy. She had had big plans for today. She had hoped to make a friend.

The six year old had first noticed her during their flower-arrangement classes. It was a curriculum sponsored by the Yamanaka clan in particular, and Ino was proud to be one of the best in that class already. Kunoichi had to be able to behave like ladies, so they could blend in when they needed to. This is what Ino's mother told her, and this week Iruka-sensei had given them the ninja word for it: _in-fill-tray-shon_. They had to be careful with flower-arranging though, because some of the prettiest flowers in the woods behind the academy were actually on poisonous plants. Poison was something a kunoichi could use too. Chihiro-sensei said that.

The little girl with the pink hair had a flower name, and Ino liked that. She was shy, and she blushed the same colour as her hair when Ino talked to her for the first time. Ino liked that too. Sakura was cute, like a doll, and even though she didn't talk much at first, Ino liked the thought of being the one to bring her out of her shell.

She had noticed that Sakura was picked on by Ami, and that she didn't have many friends. In fact, she seemed to eat lunch alone most of the days, usually in a quiet corner where she could watch for bullies. So, Ino didn't think Sakura would reject her friendship. In fact, she was sure she wouldn't. Ino could see it. She would swoop in and help Sakura stand up to Ami, and then when together they had frightened the bullies away, Ino would give Sakura her friendship ribbon and declare them best friends forever.

But, that was days ago.

Sakura hadn't been eating lunches by herself for days. She spent her lunchtimes playing ninja. With her _brother_. Ino didn't even know she had a brother.

She could see them now, tucked away in a corner and hurriedly finishing their onigiri so they could start hiding in bushes again. They were whispering and grinning.

Ino wilted. It looked like Sakura didn't need her, after all.

Without thinking, Ino let the ribbon slip through her fingers. The wind caught it. Dismayed, the blonde girl snatched for it but missed, forcing her to jump off the wall and chase her ribbon across the courtyard. It tumbled to a stop on the far side of the building, landing on the dusty cobbles and getting all dirty. Ino's lip wobbled.

She rubbed it viciously on her shirt, trying to clean it up. The dust was dry and loose, so it was working, albeit leaving a chalky smear across Ino's front instead. She lifted it up to her face for a better look, then paused when something caught her attention. Some _one_. There was that Uzumaki Naruto on the rope swing like always. But behind the tree close by was another little girl. She was…watching Naruto? Ino scrunched up her face in confusion. Did she want a go on the swing?

Struck by the sudden urge to talk to the other girl, Ino tip-toed forward. Hyuuga Hinata: that was her name. From the clan with the white eyes. Her cheeks were pink, Ino noticed. Another shy girl?

Suddenly, Ino smiled. Maybe she could give her ribbon to someone after all.

* * *

 _It took British law enforcement several months to find the home of Severus Snape, one Spinner's End, and they did not remember it afterwards._

 _It took Severus Snape approximately thirty cuss-filled minutes to get Albus-Percival-Wulfric-Brian-Dumbledore on the end of the floo._

 _It took Dumbledore less than an hour to confirm the news for himself, and about as long for Severus Snape to leave Spinner's End. He had just walked free of imprisonment for services to the Dark Lord, he wasn't going to have the death of Harry-freaking-Potter on his back as well._

* * *

 **Despite having, for all intents and purposes, actually died, Voldemort was nonetheless able to use his own wand to perform magic after his rebirth. Diary-Riddle was also able to cast spells on his own. This leads me to think that magic is tied, not to the body, but to the soul canonically. In Naruto, we get an explanation of chakra that indicates it's very much a part of the body.**

 **For these reasons, it makes sense to me that Harry Potter's soul would carry whatever magical abilities he has over to whatever empty body he happens to end up inhabiting. If that body is a chakra-capable ninja-body, then he will be able to perform jutsu. Without training, however, both would be useless.**

 **I did have a lot of fun thinking about how Haru's accidental magic might affect the shinobi world, though.** **J**

Rowling, J.K (1997) _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ , Bloomsbury Publishing Co. Chapter ONE:

\- Harry is shown to have turned his teacher's hair blue; shrunk one of Dudley's ugly old sweaters to the point that it was unwearable; found himself mysteriously on the roof once when his cousin and his gang were chasing him; grow all his hair back when Aunt Petunia cut it all off and accidentally let a boa constrictor free from a zoo after he spoke to it in Parseltongue, and vanished the glass of its terrarium.


End file.
